


tarantino killing love

by WhereverMyWay



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Character Death, Cheating, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drunk Sex, Exsanguination, Filming, I'm so sorry, Knifeplay, M/M, Mental Instability, Murder, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Profanity, Psychological Horror, Secret Relationship, Thriller, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, extreme sadism, revoked consent, y'all should know i don't write happy shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27152249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhereverMyWay/pseuds/WhereverMyWay
Summary: Seo Changbin met his boyfriend, Lee Minho, in a bar three years ago. When a stranger, Bang Chan, shows up and sits next to him at this bar, offering polite conversation, looking absolutely ethereal - perhaps that was the alcohol adding a halo effect to this man - Changbin's breath is taken from him. He knows he should decline Chan's offer of going back to his hotel room, but there was nothing stopping him. What's the worst that could happen, his boyfriend finding out?He never should have went along with Chan, but he wanted to stick it to Minho for probably cheating on him. For emotionally checking out on their relationship. Changbin was over it. Minho deserved to be cheated on. An eye for an eye, right?Men in bars were always trouble for Changbin.Alternatively: Don't go home with pretty strangers.-this work of fiction is dark and disturbing. please read all tags and disclaimers!
Relationships: ???/???, Bang Chan/Seo Changbin, Lee Minho | Lee Know/Seo Changbin
Comments: 15
Kudos: 38





	tarantino killing love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Str4y](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Str4y/gifts).



> **recommended tracks:** triggered by chase atlantic (title track! inspired the whole fic), okay by chase atlantic, selene by niki, polly by nirvana, zombie by the cranberries, have at thee! by say anything. idk i listened to these while writing this.
> 
>  **disclaimer: this is a work of fiction!** any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.
> 
>  **secondary disclaimer:** this is NOT bdsm by the way. bdsm is only considered that if it's safe, sane, and consensual, which this devolves into the exact opposite of all three of those things. so, yes, there is an "extreme sadism" tag, but it's not bdsm sadism, it's just pure insanity. just so you know. <3
> 
>  **friendly notice:** people cheat in this fic. consent gets revoked, turning a consensual event into non-consensual sexual activity (i would argue that consent in this is questionable at best since both parties are very drunk, but a character explicitly withdraws his consent). a person dies in this fic and the person/s involved with killing him have too much fun with it. this is going to be dark and unhappy because i am physically incapable of writing happy stuff and I had a bad day. :) 
> 
> **a reminder: you can always hit the back button if this story gets to be too much. ♡**

Drinking scotch neat was never a good idea. The short, lean man at the bar sighed heavily as he stared down into the amber liquid, a reflection of his scowl staring back at him. He was tired of dealing with the same shit his boyfriend put him through. He’d come home after a long day of work, not even bothering to say something along the lines of, “Hi, Changbin, I missed you, I love you, how was your day?” He would just beeline straight for the shower, then fuck off to his office and slam the door.

His boyfriend was probably having an affair, and was too much of a coward to admit it and own up to it. Changbin was too much of a coward to approach him about it. This was just what they did: they wallowed around in misery due to each other’s cowardice until their problems magically disappeared, like any normal, long-term relationship.

“Fuck you, Minho,” the man scoffs under his breath as he brings the glass up to his lips, taking a long, slow sip, his face wrinkling in disgust. The scotch was acrid: it smelled like fermented, rotten fruit, and regret. Changbin had been dealing with this for months; his reward to himself was to come to this local, quiet bar in Itaewon every Friday and Saturday night until it closed at two in the morning. He’d angrily stumble down the street, kicking inanely at random rocks and discarded litter as he made his way home, deliberately taking the long way so he could enjoy the quiet walk for as long as he could.

“Hey,” a smooth tenor voice chimed up behind his shoulder. “Mind if I sit here?”

Changbin didn’t bother looking at the man behind him as he polished off the scotch in his glass, slamming it against the wooden panelling of the bar. “Knock yourself out.” He stuck two fingers in the air and waved down the bartender, who nodded in response.

“Rough night?” The voice chirps up again, and Changbin rolls his eyes. He hated it when a talker sat next to him, but the booze started running through his system, permitting him to be at least a bit more sociable.

“Rough fucking year,” he grumbles a bit too honestly as he turns to the man. There was a scowl on his face, until he took in the ethereal man in front of him. Holy shit, he thought to himself. It had been a while since he had seen someone that actively took his breath away and caused his thoughts to cease. The last man that had done that to him was his boyfriend, Minho, three years ago at a bar not too far from here.

Men in bars were always trouble for Changbin.

“Same thing?” The voice of the bartender rings in Changbin’s left ear, pulling him from his thoughts. He shakes his head once, subtly, then offers a nod to her. “What about you?”

“Whatever he’s having, I suppose, but with a couple ice cubes.”

“You’re gonna regret that,” Changbin mumbles under his breath.

“Excuse me?” The man chuckles, nodding at the bartender as she walks away.

Changbin rolls his eyes and rests his chin on his hand, deliberately not looking at the man next to him, because he looked dangerous. He looked like he could actively cause him to question his relationship with Minho further. If Changbin had a couple more drinks, and a little less inhibition, he could picture himself slipping away with him to the bathroom or, depending on how interesting this strange man was, a hotel room.

“I said, ‘I hope you like scotch’.” Changbin let his eyes flit up to catch a quick glance at the blond, curly-haired man. 

“No, you didn’t,” the man curtly responds. “That bad of a year, eh?”

Changbin scoffs, deliberately not offering a response to the man. He pushes off of the table and turns to face the stranger, offering his hand for a polite handshake. “Seo Changbin.” 

The man tilts his head to the side and tries to bite back a laugh as he takes Changbin’s hand in his hand, giving it a firm squeeze as he shakes it. “Bang Chan. Nice to meet you.”

* * *

The two men end up hitting it off surprisingly quickly. Every time the conversation started to dip, Chan would offer an interesting fact that would be so off the wall, it would bring Changbin right back into the conversation, so entranced as he got lost in the blond man’s eyes. His personality was addictive, which reminded him of when he fell for Minho. These kinds of men were always bad news, but maybe bad news was what Changbin needed tonight.

It shouldn’t have surprised him at all that, while they finished their last drinks of the night, Chan was in his ear, hand trailing up his thigh, asking Changbin if he wanted to go back to his hotel room and forget about Minho. It shouldn’t have surprised him that he knew he should have said no, but the alcohol made his ‘no’ jumble up from his stomach and come out as a ‘yes’.

Everything started to blur together as soon as they left the bar. He didn’t bother looking at his surroundings when he got into the Uber that Chan had called. Changbin was too busy sloppily, drunkenly kissing Chan to notice or care about the blurry Seoul landscape zooming past them. They both tasted like boozy honey, their tongues soft and wet against each other. Chan let his hands wander, trailing down Changbin’s neck, lightly digging his fingernails into the soft skin.

“I can’t wait to mark you up,” Chan gasps, pulling away from the kiss to nibble at Changbin’s cheek, jawline, then his ear, “make it so Minho regrets cheating on you. Make you look like you belong to me, at least for one night.”

It shouldn’t turn him on, but Changbin shifts uncomfortably against the leather seat. “Fuck Minho.” His voice is low, gravelly, full of desire. “If you’re as good as I bet you are, I’ll leave him as soon as I get home tomorrow.” Chan takes one of his hands and slips it up into Changbin’s thick, brown hair, giving it a slight tug as he sinks his teeth into the spot just below his earlobe.

“Don’t fuck him,” Chan says with a mouthful of flesh between his teeth, “fuck me instead.”

* * *

It felt like no time at all had passed when they finally arrived at the hotel. It was one of the nicest ones in town, and Changbin was surprised to see a place so nice. “Are we at the right place?” He rubbed his forehead as he stared up at the bright lights in confusion. 

“Yes,” Chan whispered with a grin, grabbing Changbin’s hand. “Come on, let’s get going. The less time I have to wait to get you underneath me, the better.”

Changbin doesn’t protest as Chan drags him through the exquisite, elaborate lobby. The concierges at the front desk bow as they enter, the two of them quickly making their way to the elevator bay. Chan jams his fingers up against the call button, nervously biting his lip. He had been so confident a moment ago, but his behaviour shifted as soon as they entered the hotel. He was darting his eyes around more and more frequently.

It was strange, but Changbin didn’t care. It was probably because he knew he was going to help a committed man cheat, and he would be lying if he said it didn’t make him a bit nervous, too. It was unlikely, but he would never live it down if he ran into Minho here, hand-in-hand with another very good looking man, a bruise starting to bloom on his neck. 

That was a _tomorrow_ problem, not a _tonight_ problem.

The elevator doors opened, and Chan waved his wallet in front of the card reader, then pressed the top button as the indicator quietly beeped. Changbin’s eyes widened, then squinted in disbelief. Surely, they weren’t _actually_ going up to the top floor. 

However, he was surprised as they glided upwards. The numbers on the digital indicator kept increasing. 23. 24. 25. 26, it stopped at 27. The top floor.

“Chan, this is…” he starts to speak, but he’s cut off by Chan pulling him through the elevator doors, down the hallway, down to the single door at the end of the hall. 

“My family owns a lot of properties,” Chan mumbles, turning to look back at Changbin with a sly smirk. “That means that I get to use them however I see fit. Luckily for us, my favourite room was open tonight. Wait until you see the view from up here.” He taps his wallet against the door, opening it after he hears a soft beep.

The door barely shuts and they’re already all over each other again. Chan has his hands ruffling through Changbin’s thick brown hair, and Changbin takes his wiry fingers and reaches up underneath Chan’s shirt. “Oh my god,” the younger man whines, “I need this. I need you. I haven’t been fucked in so long and I’m desperate, Chan.”

The older man smirks, letting go of Changbin’s hair. “Alright, alright,” he chuckles, grabbing the younger man’s hand. “Come with me, I’ll take care of you.”

Changbin follows, but a door with a thick, long scrape in it captures his attention, causing him to still. “What happened to this door, Chan?”

“Don’t ask.” Chan’s tone is serious, and he tugs harder, actively pulling Changbin away from the door. “Seriously, just don’t ask. This room, uh, needs some repairs after a couple got into a fight.”

Something about that didn’t sit right with Changbin, but he was too drunk to really press the issue any further. He just wanted to get fucked by Chan, take a nap, and then dip. It was probably nothing; there were probably other rooms that had similar problems and they were out of commission, that’s why this room was available.

He didn’t have much time to think about it before Chan pushed Changbin onto the bed, drunkenly fumbling his way on top of him. “You sure you wanna do this? This place could be haunted. Maybe I’m lying and someone died here and there’s a ghost that’s haunting the place?”

Changbin scoffed and rolled his eyes, sitting up enough to peel his shirt off. “Very funny. Can we please just fuck already? I don’t want to start to sober up and feel guilty or something.” 

Chan shrugs his shoulders, then removes his shirt, tossing it behind him. He undoes his pants, slipping them off and dropping them to the floor. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

* * *

Changbin was right. The sex with Chan _would_ be good enough to leave Minho over. He hit all of the right spots at the right times, and it just felt so good to let go for a night. He was finally letting himself relax and get fully into the moment when he heard the floorboard creak a couple of times. “What was that?” Changbin tensed at the sound he heard. Was it footsteps? Maybe this place really was haunted and Chan wasn’t kidding.

“It’s fine, baby,” Chan grabbed Changbin’s face, leaning down to kiss him. “It’s nothing.”

Changbin shook his head. “Chan, stop. I swear, I heard footsteps.” Chan continued his motions, craning his head further down to sink his teeth into Changbin’s neck. The younger man’s eyes opened wide, darting back and forth, and his heart rate went into overdrive. “Dude, seriously, I said to fucking _stop_.”

“I didn’t.” A third voice pops up from the entrance of the bedroom and it causes Changbin to freeze in horror and for Chan to smirk. “I’m the one calling the shots here. Keep going.”

“W-what the fuck?” Changbin started to hyperventilate as the man came into view, making his way up to the two of them in bed, confirming the voice he suspected. The man was brandishing a switchblade, twirling it around his fingers. “Minho?”

“Aww,” Minho tsks and cocks his head to the side, an insincere smile wide on his face, “you thought you could cheat on me and get away with it?” He presses up the knife to Changbin’s throat and coos. “You’re so stupid, Binnie. I know everything.”

“Minho,” Changbin’s voice is weak, and tears start to fall from his eyes. “Minho, please. I thought you were cheating on me, that’s why I…”

The older man’s smile fades, quickly turning to a frown. He grabs Changbin’s right arm and digs the blade in enough to leave a long strip, a thin scratch, just deep enough to draw blood. Changbin shrieks, trying to pull his arm away, but Chan puts all of his weight onto the younger man’s shoulders, pinning him in place. 

“That doesn’t mean _you_ should have fucking cheated on _me_.” Minho’s voice is devoid of emotion as he stares down at his boyfriend, then turns to look at Chan. “Keep going, sweetheart. I’m gonna get everything ready.”

Chan looks down at Changbin with a crazed grin on his face, his eyes half open and dark. “I can’t wait to see you bleed all over for us, baby.”

Changbin tries harder to thrash, to get out from underneath Chan’s grasp. The terror coursing through his veins causes him to audibly gasp. “Stop! Please, just stop!” He screams, but it’s apparent that Chan simply doesn’t care. In fact, Changbin’s fear seems to further drive the older man to continue his abhorrent behaviour.

“Your screams are the cutest ones I’ve heard so far.” Chan lets out a soft laugh, slowly thrusting in and out of Changbin as the younger man tries so hard to will himself to just die. He doesn’t want to be here, he wants to be literally anywhere but here, mentally and physically. His eyelids tightly close, to let him try and escape this hell he was forced to be in.

He kept repeating “please, stop,” like a pathetic, broken mantra that fell on deaf ears.

“Baby,” Minho’s soft, soothing voice came floating back into the room. He shuffled in, pulling some liquid from a vial into a syringe. “I need you to shut the fuck up, please, baby. You’re gonna give me a migraine.”

“Aw, but I like the way he screams.” Chan looks over his shoulder, pouting up at Minho.

The black—haired man rolls his eyes in response. “Sweetheart, don’t start. I just want this night to go well. Grab his arm.”

Chan does as requested, roughly yanking Changbin’s bloodied arm up and presenting it to Minho. Surprisingly, Changbin doesn’t resist, he just stares off into the wallpaper, letting himself get lost in the patterns his eyes were hallucinating. 

“This is gonna shut you up, but you’ll still feel everything, baby,” Minho coos as he hunts for a good vein in the crook of Changbin’s arm. He points the needle into it, then slowly pushes the stopper of the syringe. A burning sensation causes the brunette’s arm to twitch, and causes him to panic again, until his head starts to feel light and floaty, like he was drifting on a cloud. “There we go, please stay quiet. It’ll all be over soon enough, we’re just going to play around with you a little bit first, okay?”

Changbin suddenly doesn’t have the energy, nor the capability, to respond to Minho. He lets his head fall to the side, a string of drool spilling from his mouth. He didn’t have any emotions anymore, like the drug was a magic serum that severed the mind/body connection. Everything became two-dimensional and flat, like he was watching someone play an old school Nintendo game while baked off of his ass.

“You think that was too much?” Chan’s voice floats around Changbin’s head, as an image with his face clouds his vision, multiplied in spades, like he was looking through a kaleidoscope. The strange, new man looked more like the monster that Changbin pictured as more appropriate to match his personality.

“Does it fucking matter?” Minho sets the vial and syringe down on the nightstand next to Changbin, pulling his switchblade out of his pocket again. “He won’t put up as much of a fight this way. I’d hate for you to exhaust yourself holding him down; he’s one of the strongest ones yet.”

Chan pouts. “But I love a challenge,” he says with a whine.

“This isn’t about you,” Minho spits at him, then drags the tip of his knife across a fleshy spot on Changbin’s forearm. It should burn, it should sting, but it just feels like someone’s undone a zipper on his skin. He eyes the blood trailing down his arm, rapidly dripping downward, and gets lost in the moment.

Minho quickly moves down to his knees, bringing his soft lips to Changbin’s new wound. He rolls his tongue around the open cut, then creates a vacuum around the tender skin with his lips, sucking Changbin’s blood up directly from his arm. A delighted whine comes from Minho as his eyes roll back into his head.

“He must taste pretty good, huh?” Chan says with a laugh as he bends down, forcing his lips against Changbin’s again. The younger man isn’t able to physically respond, the drug clouding his thought processes. It wasn’t as good as dying or being able to get away, but he would accept being drugged out beyond belief. It meant he wouldn’t remember as much of this tomorrow, which would make this entire process somewhat bearable.

Minho pulls off of Changbin’s arm, blood painting the divots between his teeth as he smiles at the men. “Incredible. We’ll have to make sure not to waste a single drop.” He quickly fumbles his hand into his front pocket, pulling out a stretchy, rubber-like ribbon, then fastens it above Changbin’s elbow, causing the blood to stop pulsing out of his arm.

“Not yet, baby.” Minho coos, gently patting the top of Changbin’s head. “We’re going to make you suffer all night for us, okay? You don’t get to die on us this soon. Not until later.” His voice is disjointed from this situation. It sounds like he’s talking to a child, trying to calm them, reassure them that everything was going to be alright. There was nothing reassuring about knowing that Changbin was going to be tortured, so why did Minho sound so fucking happy about it?

That’s when it hits Changbin: he’s not going to leave this hotel room alive. He never should have trusted men he met in bars. Men in bars were always trouble for Changbin, and that was going to be his fatal mistake.

He wants to scream. Truly, he does. The audacity of the situation was unnerving, it would be terrifying for anyone. Instead of screaming, however, Changbin laughs. He lets out a garbled, choked-up, guttural laugh that sounds more like a throaty grumble. It evolves into a lazy, wet cackle. “I’m gonna fuckin’ die here.” He so desperately just wants all of this to be a joke, for Chan and Minho to stop with all of this and say ‘surprise! Don’t cheat on your partner, we’ll let you live!’ but Changbin knew better. 

Minho wasn’t the type to forgive, he never was. He held grudges over the dumbest shit; there was one time that Changbin forgot to wipe down the walls of the shower, and Minho didn’t speak to him for a week and a half — not a single word, not a single glance. It only made sense that he would be brutally killed for sleeping with another man, _especially_ since he was caught in the act. Another cackle came up from Changbin’s throat as a few tears slipped down from his eyes. 

The word forgiveness was not in Minho’s vocabulary, and he knew that. 

“Get up,” Minho flatly says to Chan as he lifts himself up off of the floor. “Go grab the camcorder.”

Chan pulls out of Changbin, huffing as his face falls into a pout. “But I was enjoying myself.”

Minho smirks and brings his blade to the underside of Chan’s Adam’s apple, causing the older man to gasp. “I don’t care. Do as I say, and I might reward you for it later.”

“Fine, fine,” Chan relents, throwing his hands in the air, then pulls off the condom, lackadaisically discarding it somewhere to the side. He grabs a robe from the closet, then walks off into the suite’s main room.

Minho crawls up onto the bed, straddling Changbin’s waist. “When was the last time we fucked, anyways?” His voice is so casual, so mellow, like he wasn’t actively planning on murdering him soon. “Oh, right, the drugs make it hard to think and speak, sorry, baby.” Changbin desperately wanted this man — this creature — to stop calling him cutesy pet names. “Let’s see, I started the test about five months ago? You were so close to passing, too.” Minho tsks. “Had you just rejected Chan — I know, it’s impossible — you’d live to see tomorrow. What a shame.”

There’s no warning as Minho leans back, taking his knife and slicing a slow, even line across the top of Changbin’s upper right thigh. This wound was deeper, as Changbin actually saw blood spurt up from his leg and his head started to feel like television static. “Ooh, lovely,” Minho’s eyes light up as he reaches into his pocket for another rubber tie. He fumbles around for a bit, then ties it up in the apex of the younger man’s thigh. “That was a little too deep, hmm? I wish I would’ve gotten that on camera. What a shame.”

Footsteps come padding in, and Minho turns his head. “I already started filming, hope that’s fine.” Chan’s voice is calm. Minho politely waves, wiggling his fingers to the camera. He was treating this like it was some sort of family reunion video. They both were. Chan and Minho were too relaxed about this.

They’ve done this before, Changbin figures. They knew too much. They were too comfortable, too confident. How many people have they killed together?

Minho turns his attention back down to Changbin’s leg. He shifts his weight, moving to be in between Changbin’s legs. His eyes are practically sparkling as he nearly drools over the sight. The man bends down, lapping up blood from the wound as if he was a hungry kitten in front of a saucer of cream.

“You like that, babycakes?” Chan’s voice is soft, gentle, as he leans further in with the camera, focusing on Minho’s tongue pressing up against Changbin’s skin. “Does he taste good?”

The black-haired man grins, lifting his head up to reveal blood slathered all over his face. “We’re going to have a good time with him, sweetheart, I know it.” Chan reaches down with his free hand, wiping some of the blood off of Minho’s chin, bringing his thumb up to his lips and licking it clean. He turns his head to Changbin and smiles.

“Oh,” Chan drawls out, his pupils getting wide as he stares down at the younger man. “You’re dangerously delicious. Minho and I are going to have a lot of fun with you.” He excitedly turns back to Minho. “Should we get started?”

Minho tilts his head down a bit and curls his lips upwards. “Absolutely.”

* * *

Changbin slips in and out of consciousness as Chan and Minho move him to the main room in the suite, setting him down on a plastic tarp. At some point, Minho injects another syringe full of the mysterious drug into Changbin’s arm, along with a small amount of another drug. The second drug causes his heart to pump rapidly, like adrenalin was coursing through his veins in overdrive. 

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck,” he panics, eyes going wide. He’s not able to move, but he feels more alive now than ever. “What are you doing to me, Minho?”

“Oh, baby,” Minho bends down, patting Changbin’s face softly. “I can’t have you resist, but it’s so much more fun when your heart rate is high. You’re going to turn into our own little bloody fountain. It’s my favourite part of all of this.”

Changbin shakes his head. “Please, Minho, please,” he cries, “I don’t want to die.”

“Binnie,” Minho leans down and kisses his forehead, offering the younger man a soft smile. “I don’t care if you want to die or not. This isn’t about you.” The whispers cause Changbin’s body to run cold. “You shouldn’t’ve cheated on me, baby. Now you’re gonna pay the price and suffer.”

Minho kisses Changbin’s forehead again, but Changbin doesn’t even react. If he could emotionally die before he was killed, he was trying. He didn’t want to let Minho have the satisfaction of terrorizing him, not emotionally. He was going to die, but he was going to die fighting, fighting any way he knew how.

The black-haired man stands up, walking over to an intricate box on the coffee table against the wall. He shuffles through it a bit, until a soft gasp leaves his lips. “Oh, perfect. Perfect for my pretty Changbin.” He spins around with a smile on his face, and he presents his hands, a long, silver blade in them. The blade had deep crimson detailing interwoven within the shiny black handle. “You always loved dark things, and I’ve never used this one on anyone. It’s perfect for you.”

Changbin’s stomach drops, but he still refuses to react in terror. “It’s beautiful, baby.” The words fall off of his tongue, leaving an aftertaste of copper and battery acid, burning him from the inside out. He offers a fake smile as he looks up to Minho. “You always knew me best, huh?”

Minho squints in irritation, thinking hard about what exactly Changbin was saying. “You’re not scared?”

Shit. Minho was on to him. “I’m a little scared,” Changbin lies, “but as long as it’s you, I’ll be okay.” The words were a gamble: Minho would either be elated, or he would be furious. If he was happy, he would probably get too excited over the thought of killing someone else and make it fast, painless. If he was pissed, he would just draw it out more, making Changbin suffer the entire time.

“Interesting.” Minho didn’t react in any way, just letting himself ruminate over what exactly he was going to do with that information. “Chan,” he calls over his shoulder, and the blond-haired man comes running from the room with the scarred door. 

“What’s up?”

“I want to get started.” Minho’s voice had a heavy layer of annoyance to it. “You’re taking too long.”  
  
“Sorry,” Chan whines, then looks down to his feet. “I was getting prepped.”

“No need.” Minho’s tone was cold. He took a couple steps up to Changbin and glared down at him. “I don’t want to fuck you in front of him. He doesn’t deserve it.”

“Are you kidding me, dude?” Chan sighs, resting his hands on his hips. Minho snaps his head over his shoulder, the look causing Chan to tense. “Okay, okay, fine. Jesus.”

The black-haired man looks back down at Changbin, scowling in disgust. “You always annoyed me, you know. I hoped you would fall for the trap so I could actually kill you. Make you suffer.” Changbin looked up at him, his face devoid of emotion, but Minho looked genuinely hurt. “Actually, no, that’s not true. Not at all. I usually pull the trap within a few months, but the first two and a half years of our relationship were actually pretty good.

“It was so good. But Chan is always so tempting to go back to. I needed to kill again. So, five months ago, we hooked up. Killed this pretty little thing — what was his name, Chan?”

“I dunno, I think it was Hyunjin or something. Pretty dude.” Chan doesn’t bother looking up, standing in the same spot, as he picks at his fingernails.

“That’s right,” Minho smiles. “That’s when I knew. I knew I had to kill you. Pretty things don’t stay pretty forever, and this way you’ll stay pretty and perfect in my mind until I die. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Changbin’s mouth drops, and he’s not quite sure what exactly he should do with that information, the drugs clouding his memory and preventing him from thinking clearly. “You’re disturbed and need help.” He should’ve just stayed quiet, but he was so mind-blown that he couldn’t resist it.

Minho doesn’t appreciate this. “Why does everyone say that?!” He panics, throwing his arms in the air with a huff. “I’m fine. I am _absolutely_ fine. I’m _fine!”_ He growls, then takes the dagger and haphazardly slices into Changbin’s left thigh, causing a small amount of blood to bubble up. “Everyone always says, ‘oh, Minho, you’re so smart, you’d be so good if you just got help.’ Well,” he scoffs, running a hand through his hair, “I think I’m perfectly fine just the way I am.”

“I agree,” Chan says with a dark smile. “You’re perfect.”

“Shut up, Chan,” Minho grumbles, then points his dagger down at Changbin. “I can’t believe you’re just like the rest of them. You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you?”

The room goes quiet, nobody says anything for a good minute or two. Minho grits his teeth and slices at Changbin’s thigh again, a bit deeper this time. “I asked you a fucking question! Answer me, you fucking prick!”

Changbin lightly shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders. Things were slowly starting to feel fuzzier and fuzzier. “I don’t know, dude.”

Minho screams in frustration, dropping the dagger right in between Changbin’s legs, and he grips his hair, leaving bloody streaks on his face and in his hair. “Everyone — _everyone!_ — they all think they’re so much better than me. None of them will ever know what it’s like to kill someone. To _need_ to kill someone. Society always tells me that I’m wrong, that I’m fucked up, that I need to be institutionalized, that I’m a danger to society. You know what I say to that?”

He starts wildly cackling, looking over to Chan, who is still unfazed, then down to Changbin. “I tell them that they should all fuck right off. They’re the ones that are wrong. Society needs to be corrected, not me.”

“You tell ‘em, love,” Chan says, bringing his fingers up to his mouth to tear off a hangnail. “Fuck society.”

Minho collapses down to his knees, scrambling to grab the silver dagger. “You’re just like the rest of them.” He stares down at Changbin and laughs. “People like you need people like me to feel better about themselves. And I say fuck that. I’m the superior one, here. Not you. You’re gonna die, just like the rest of them.”

“Shut up, Minho,” Changbin sighs, not even bothering to hide his annoyance. “Look, I know you’re gonna kill me, I don’t care. But killing me isn’t gonna solve your problems.”

Changbin’s quip earns him a couple of slashes in each thigh, just what he wanted. Make this shit end faster.

“ _You_ need to shut up, Changbin. You’ve always talked too much. People like you always talk too much.” Ironic, Changbin thought, that Minho was monologuing, but had the audacity to complain about other people that talked too much. “ _You_ cheated on _me_. You’re just as bad as everyone else.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Talking coherently was becoming more difficult as Changbin’s head started to feel lighter and lighter. He was finally rapidly approaching death, and he knew it. “You cheated on me, too. You and Chan killed that one kid. You complain about people talking, but you’re talking. So much talking. You…” his voice trails off and he loses consciousness for a moment. For a single moment. He closes his eyes, then opens them back up to see Minho and Chan covered in blood and he feels cold, empty, and weak.

Oh. That was his own blood. He looked down to his leg and saw that he had several more deep lacerations.

“You’re not dead yet,” Minho flatly states, staring down at Changbin with no emotion on his face. “You will be soon, though. We got a lot of blood out of you. Have anything you wanna get off your chest before you go?”

Changbin lets out a noncommittal grunt, and he lets his head fall to the side, staring out the window as he starts to float. The sun peeks up from behind a skyscraper. How ironic, he thought, that the sun was rising as his life was setting. He could finally feel somewhat peaceful after all of the chaos that these horrible people put him through. His eyelids grew heavy and he let out a long, deep sigh as he closed his eyes, letting himself get absorbed into the warmth of the sun for the last time.

* * *

“Man,” Minho grumbles, reclining in the leather chair, grabbing his martini and taking a swift sip, “I liked him. Can’t believe he lasted for three whole years. Shame he fell for the trap, hmm?” He stuck his bloody pinkie into the drink and fished out an olive, scooping it into his mouth. The red liquid sank, leaving a trail in the way that the liquid moved, like it was a ghost. “Anyway,” he mumbled, a bit of olive stuck to his front tooth, “once we shower and dump him in the incinerator downstairs, I was thinking we could go after the barista down the street from that bar next? They open soon and he’s cute. Works on Sundays.”

Chan licked the blood off of his hands as he turned around to look at Minho. “Han? The one with the bright pink hair?”

“I don’t care what his fucking name is.” Minho chokes on another drink of his bloodied martini as the vodka burns his throat. “He’s pretty, looks like he has a pathetic, cute, little scream. Been eyeing him for a while. You know how I feel about the pretty ones.”

“Yeah, that’s the guy.” Chan smirks, licking his lips and leaving a trail of blood behind, making it look like his lips were coated in a macabre crimson lipstick. “I like the way you think, babycakes. Now, put your glass down and come help me clean this poor dude up off the floor before the blood stains the wood.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so sorry, binnie. :(
> 
> hope you enjoyed this, specifically str4y. surprise! this is a thank you for giving me confidence to write more dark shit and for all of the amazing work you've made. ♡
> 
> consider leaving a comment. they make my day. ♡


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